


This Is My Body Which Is Broken For You

by Maeryn_skye



Series: The Sun and the Moon [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possibly OOC Sherlock, Protective Lestrade, Scars, Tiny bit of Angst, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:05:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeryn_skye/pseuds/Maeryn_skye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For almost ten years Sherlock and Greg have been dancing around their attraction to each other. Too many questions, insecurities, never the right time and so on. When Greg accidentally sees the scars from Sherlock's time away, he finally realizes just how much he means to Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is My Body Which Is Broken For You

**Author's Note:**

> This could be seen as a sequel to my previous fic "Still Enchanted By the Light You Brought To Me". Where "Still Enchanted" is pre-canon, this would be post-canon, following sometime after "HLV". Not entirely happy with it, but I wanted to get it up tonight. Please let me know what you think.

"All right in there, Sunshine?"

"Lestrade, I am thirty-five years old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Lestrade smiled and mumbled "Could've fooled me," under his breath. "How's the arm?" he asked, still standing outside his bathroom door.

Even through the door he heard Sherlock heave a sigh. "The arm is fine, Lestrade. It wasn't that deep of a cut and the doctor did an adequate job stitching it up. The arm is fine, the shower is fine, everything is fine. If you must have something to do, find me some clothing then make me some tea."

Lestrade rolled his eyes affectionately, then wandered into the kitchen to put on the kettle and set out cups for tea. Apparently, Sherlock's ability to take care of himself didn't extend to making tea. Probably too mundane. From the kitchen, Greg walked into his bedroom. Somehow over the years he had acquired what he called his "Sherlock Supplies' - a small chest of drawers that had come to be filled with various Sherlock - owned or -sized articles of clothing as well as a ridiculously (and possibly illegally) stocked first aid kit, small sample-sized bottles of Sherlock's favourite toiletries, and various other items required for the comfort, health, welfare and upkeep of one slightly spoiled, totally irresponsible and utterly beloved consulting detective.

Greg heard the shower shut off and knew that His Highness would momentarily be bellowing for clothing. He quickly grabbed pants, pajama pants and a t-shirt from one of the drawers and made his way back to the bathroom. "These should still fit you ... might be a little big now ..." He opened the door and stopped suddenly, staring at the sight in front of him. His stomach rolled over and he felt a wave of nausea sweep over him. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous. "Sherlock. Who did this to you? What happened?"

Sherlock quickly turned around to face Lestrade. He shook his head and said softly, "Don't..." Stupid. Stupid of him to forget. He had managed to keep both John and Lestrade from seeing the full extent of his injuries at the hands of Moriarty's men. It was something he never wanted them to know about. Even in the hospital after Mary had shot him, he had been able to keep the scars mostly hidden. He couldn't believe that he had let himself slip up so badly tonight. Well, nothing for it but just to bluster his way through. "We talked about this, Lestrade. Is my tea ready?"

Lestrade dropped the clothing he was carrying still and laid a gentle hand on Sherlock's arm, turning the younger man until he was facing away from him again. Another wave of nausea passed through him but this time it was accompanied by a white hot rage unlike anything the detective had ever felt. The once alabaster planes of Sherlock's back were now nothing but a battleground of scars. Scars from whips, acid burns, electric burns, cigarette burns, knife scars - those he could recognize right away. He carefully pulled away the towel that was wrapped loosely around Sherlock's hips and inhaled sharply at the scarring on his buttocks and upper thighs. "Jesus, Sherlock..."

"Lestrade ... Greg ... please ... I told you..."

"NO! No you did not tell me! You told me about snipers and about taking down that mad man's network, but you never mentioned that they tortured you! That they beat you and raped you! WHY, Sherlock? How could you let them do this to you?" Greg's voice broke and he took a moment to get himself together. "Go lay down on my bed. I'll be in there with your tea in a second."

Sherlock took the towel from Greg's shaking hand and wrapped it around himself then headed quietly into the other man's bedroom. Greg opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a bottle of vitamin E oil, slid it into his back pocket, then went into the kitchen to collect Sherlock's tea. By the time he returned to his bedroom, Sherlock had stretched out on his back on the king-sized bed, frowning as he tried to decide the best way to handle the current situation. 

"On your front, Sunshine," Greg's voice was soft, but Sherlock could hear the steel hidden just beneath the surface. Years of dealing with the older man made Sherlock realize that whatever happened next, Greg would accept nothing less than the gospel truth from him and that was something that terrified Sherlock more than any torturer's device. Without a word, he rolled over onto his stomach.

Greg glared down at the scarred back as he sat down on the bed beside Sherlock. "Did Mycroft even do anything for you after he got you home? Scarring this deep ..." He paused as a sudden realization dawned on him. "This is why you couldn't get out of the way in time tonight, isn't it? The scarring limits your range of movement."

Sherlock nodded. "It does to a certain extent. My brother did what he could, but there were other, more pressing matters to attend to."

Picking up the bottle he had brought in with him, Lestrade waved it in front of Sherlock's face. "Vitamin E oil. The ex used to use it to keep her skin supple or some such. Don't know if it'll help, but it won't hurt anything. Try to relax, Sunshine."

Greg poured some of the oil out into his hand and warmed it for a moment before he began to gently knead it into Sherlock's shoulders and back. He fought back tears as he realized exactly how much the younger man had suffered in order to protect the people he loved the most.

"We didn't deserve this, Sherlock. Martha is an amazing woman and John is one of the best men I've ever known, but we're none of us worth what you've been though. You never should have had to suffer like this for us."

"I would have done the same thing if it was only for you, Lestrade."

"No, Sunshine. Don't say that. I can't stand knowing how badly you were hurt for all three of us. I couldn't bear the thought of you going through all that for me alone."

Sherlock sat up, noticing immediately that there was less tension and tightness from the scarring. He looked into Greg's deep chocolate eyes, searching. After several seconds of silence, he finally said softly, "You really have no idea, do you? Mrs Hudson gave me a place to live and turned it into the only home I've ever really known. John is my soul mate, my other half. But you, Greg. You are my heart. You've saved my life so many times. Every time you handed me a case so I wouldn't reach for a needle, every time you brought me back here and held me through the withdrawals, every time I looked in your eyes and saw concern instead of revulsion..." Sherlock paused and reached up to wipe away the tears now flowing unchecked from Greg's eyes. "My life is yours, Greg. My heart is yours. And I would very much like it if you would be willing to make my body yours as well."

"Sherlock ... are you sure? I won't ... can you .. I don't want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you."

"I've never been more sure of anything. I promise you won't hurt me. I need this, Greg. I've been raped. I've had quick fucks in exchange for drugs, but I've never made love before. I want that and I want it with you."

Greg nodded and pulled Sherlock into his arms, stealing his breath away with a deep, tender, heartbreakingly sweet kiss. "My Sunshine ..." 

Lestrade awoke early the next morning with Sherlock wrapped around him completely. He couldn't help smiling, wondering how such a slender, pale body could possibly generate so much heat. He reached up and gently stroked the raven curls resting on his shoulder. "I love you, Sunshine, " he whispered softly.

"Mmm, love you too, Greg", Sherlock mumbled sleepily. "Always."


End file.
